A stallion's voice called for me.
"It says here your name is 'Vinyl Scratch,' is that correct?"
I didn't reply. I hadn't even heard him saying it at the time.
"Listen, Scratch, we can put you away for a long time if you don't cooperate. We need to know what happened on Station Thirteen and what your involvement was."
Again, no response.
"Perhaps, if you'd be willing to help us, we could help you. We have several of your friends in custody, and they've been tested carrier positive. Normally, they'd already be dead, but they claim that your group has a cure of some sort. Could you elaborate on that?"
"You could have asked that before you . . . Nicotine. Doses of nicotine over the course of several weeks is the cure." I said.
"Hmmm, that's interesting. I'll have my associates look into that. I understand you've been through a lot this past month, so if you'd like, we can continue debriefing later."
"Sure."
With that, he cantered away from the glass porthole to my cell, leaving me to sit alone and think over the events that lead up to now.
It started with my band's journey to Station 13, New Whinnipeg. Two of our members were already there. Lyra, a green unicorn mare; and Tor, a pale bison. The remaining members of VOLT, Octavia and I, were making the trip separately on a commercial class ferry ship.
"What was that, Vinyl?" the grey mare said.
"Nothing."
It wasn't anything. Just a silent whine. I didn't like where we were going.
"If you didn't want to us to go to Whinnipeg, I'm sure we could have worked something out."
"I don't think we could. We hadn't gotten a gig back on twelve in at least three months. If VOLT is to continue, we have to move."
"But what will we do when thirteen grows tired of our sound?"
I don't know. Move on to fourteen? Before I could respond, the ship screeched to a halt. Inertia tossed me out of my seat. We had docked.
"We're here."
After getting up, Octavia and I left our cabinet. The Lark was not a particularly luxurious shuttle, but it was the cheapest passenger ship available that would ferry anypony to Station Thirteen. Octavia carried our luggage. At the time, I didn't think much of it; she was an earth pony, and I, an unicorn. It made sense that she would carry our equipment. Perhaps if I had been willing to note the strain with which she carried her cello, my turntables, and both our clothes, I wouldn't have made a mistake later. I might also have noticed her passion, her devotion to making my dreams come true. But I didn't, and that wasn't the first time I made that mistake.
"We're not here to discuss your love life. You're being debriefed because we need to know why you did what you did."
"I'll try to be more objective, then."
A new silhouette appeared in the window. Along with a new voice. It was female.
"Hold up! Pokey, we're here to analyze all the reasons for her decision, that includes pathos."
"Facsi, we're going to be stuck here for lot longer than we need to be if we let Vinyl drone on about . . . Ah buck . . . We weren't supposed to give out our names, were we?"
". . . No, no we weren't."
"Please, Vinyl, continue."
The shuttle doors opened and we were greeted by a large quadruped. He had a woolly coat, beige colored, and a pair of dark green horns. Hanging on one of them was a sign that read "VyniL & Octabah." He never was very good with spelling.
"That was Tor, correct?" Facsi asked.
"Yes."
"And he played the percussion in your ensemble?"
"Yes.
"Continue."
We approached Tor. His eyes lit up as we drew near.
"We've been waiting for you guys. Lyra just found us an apartment and a concert hall!"
This came as a surprise to me. Octavia and I had agreed upon a very specific housing plan before even getting the tickets for the trip. I would have been mad. However, the prospect of having our own place to play greatly outweighed my obsession with premeditated living.
"How's that?"
"I dunno, but she said it was a deal we just couldn't pass up."
"And that is how you ended up in the Preston flat on 137th street, I presume?" Pokey said.
"Yes. The condemned Preston flat. We lived on the second floor and played on the first."
"Aha! So that's why-ahroomf!"
Judging by the movement of the shadows, Facsi had stuffed a hoof in Pokey's muzzle.
"Could you skip ahead a bit?"
"How far? If you're trying to profile me, then I'm pretty sure the next five days are going to be pretty important."
"Your last concert would be great. If there's anything you feel like talking about before then, we can discuss it in another session."
Another session. Sigh. That was to be expected. Thirty days of hell don't get recorded in just one.
The hall was packed. Ponies, zebras, and even a couple bison were in attendance. On the stage, Octavia was tuning her electric cello. I was making sure all my samples were in order on the turntable. Lyra was playing a couple of tunes on her lyre, most of which were requested by the audience to pass the time while the rest of us set up. Tor was situated behind a sound cage with a full drum set spread around him. Both of them were sitting on stools in a fashion that I can honestly say I'd never be able to replicate. At least, not without help.
When we were finally ready, Lyra took the role of MC. I wasn't very good at addressing crowds. In due time, and after several shortcomings, improvements in that realm of social interaction would see vast improvement, but at the time? I was horrible at that sort of thing.
Lyra's horn lit up, casting a spell to amplify her voice.
"New Whinnipeg, are you ready to rock?" she said.
The overwhelming response was yes. Octavia began playing a classical piece, which prompted many jeers from the crowd. After as she hit the coda, I began my work. As much as I loved classical music, the current generation showed little appreciation for the stuff. So, with a little experimenting, I found out how to stay true to the classics while presenting them in a form that the foals would be willing to stomach.
I started up several samples, matching them to the timing of the piece. The audience quieted down, mostly; the addition of new beats elicited a couple cheers here and there. As the augmentations set in, I flipped a switch on my turntable. This was it. The thing that made us different. A light on the device switched from red to green, and a heavily re-tuned recording of the first verse was sampled. Octavia's acoustic bow-work was now dueling with my digital facsimile, and I'll be darned if I didn't try to beat her. Tor brought in a new beat on the bass drum, and we sped up to match it.
Finally, Lyra began playing her Lyre. Now, I don't know if you've ever heard what magic can do in regards to music, but our little menthol unicorn could-
"Lyra was the green one, right? Stereo-chrome mane, white and turquoise?" Facsi asked.
"Yes."
"Alright. Just making sure we're on the same page."
Our little menthol unicorn could do . . . quite a bit. The lyre in her hooves extended, taking on the shape of an electric bass, and began producing a sound in kind. We came upon the final switchback, and everyone but Octavia muted their instruments. It was her time to shine, the cello solo. Just three phrases of un-augmented acoustic glory.
And they hated it. The audience tossed refuse of all types at her. I tried to stop, throwing up half baked psychokinetic shields, eventually physically placing myself between the denizens of the concert and the grey mare-
"Grey, and I believe she was the one with the long black mane . . . Right, forgot to get that down on the files earlier. Thanks."
". . ."
As I was saying, the concert ended horribly. While Lyra and I and helped Octavia get out of the crowd's reach, Tor charged to the front of the stage and started screaming at them. Eventually, they started leaving in droves, finally understanding that they had just mocked and physically harmed the primary sound of our band.
We left Tor downstairs to clean up, and push away any stragglers. Octavia was lying on her bed, bawling her eyes out. Lyra suggested that I comfort her, while she assisted Tor. I obliged, a little confused over why it should be me that help her perk up and not the unicorn that actually knew some things about her. I had known Octavia for a while but, but one could hardly say we knew each other intimately. We were passing acquaintances until just under a year ago, when we formed VOLT. So, of course, I did not see the reasoning behind having the pony that put Octavia in this terrible situation be the one to sooth her.
I was an idiot. And I still am.
An hour later, I was still sitting next to the sobbing mare, without a clue on what to do to help her. She'd occasionally whimper out little things, "please"s, or "why"s, nothing that hadn't been said when this had happened before. Lyra appeared in the doorway, with a forlorn expression on her muzzle.
"There's somepony that would like to speak with you, Scratch. Tor shoved him out a couple of times, but he's shown a great amount of . . . persistence. I'll speak with Octavia in the meantime."
"He was a brown stallion, dark brown mane, hourglass mark."
"Ah, yes, what was the name he gave you?" Facsi asked.
"Didn't give me one, although I believe he used several on my friends after that night."
"Ugh! When are we going to discuss the event!?" an angry Pokey asked.
"I think we've talked over enough for tonight. You may rest, Vinyl, but we'll be continuing this debriefing pretty early tomorrow."
A small bed slid out of one of my cell walls, surprising me enough to warrant a jump. After calming down, I climbed in, and closed my eyes. The single light hanging from the ceiling was shut off.
I don't think I got any sleep that night.